e out; but he, too, had left her heart happy in the morning
when they parted, by answering her, when she told him of the
invitation she had given, with such encomiums of her deliverer, of
his manner, of his character, of his person, and of his mind, that
Laura was almost tempted into hopes more bright than the reality.
Notwithstanding all delays Wilton did at length arrive, and that,
too, before the Duke returned, so that Laura had time to tell him how
happy her father's praises of him had made her, and to insinuate
hopes, though she did not venture absolutely to express them. Her
words, and her manner, and her look, in consequence of all that had
been passing in her mind during the morning, were more warm, more
tender than they had even been before; and who could blame Wilton, or
say that he presumed, if he, too, gave way somewhat more to the warm
and passionate love of his own heart, than he had dared to venture
during their preceding intercourse?
Laura did not blame him. She blushed, indeed, as he pressed her to
his heart, though he was the man whom she loved best on earth; but
yet, though she blushed, she felt no wrong: she felt, on the
contrary, the same pure and endearing affection towards him that he
felt for her, and knew that gentle pressure to be but an expression,
on his part, of the same high, holy, and noble love with which she
could have clung to his bosom in any moment of danger, difficulty or
distress.
At length the Duke made his appearance; and eagerly grasped Wilton's
hand in both his own, thanking him a thousand and a thousand times
for restoring to him his beloved child, and telling him that no words
or deeds could ever express his gratitude. Indeed, so much more
eager, so much more demonstrative, was his whole demeanour, than that
of his daughter, that he blamed Laura for coldness in expressing what
she felt only too warmly for words; and until dinner was announced,
he continued talking over all that had occurred, and inquiring again
and again into each particular.
As they went into the dining-room, however, he made a sign to his
daughter, whom he had cautioned before, and whispered to Wilton, "Of
course, we must not talk of these things before the servants."
All that had passed placed Wilton now in a far different situation
with the Duke and his daughter from that in which he had ever stood
before. His mind was perfectly at ease with them, and the relief had
its natural effect on his conversation: all the treasures of his mind,